when i visited my high school on thursday, i saw this one teacher, my favorite teacher, he asked, “how are you feeling?”
I took a breath, smiled, nodded—“Better,” I said. “I’m a lot less sad.”
It was a lie and a truth at the same time. For while I had managed to be far more functional—look, I came out of my first semester with a 3.43 gpa, A’s & B’s—but those last few weeks, I was overcome with something.
I spent a lot of mornings oversleeping. I skipped my morning class a lot even though it was my favorite class, even though I had all my work prepared and everything.
at night, I would cry a lot. my roommate would be asleep and i’d tiptoe out of the room to wherever seemed safe, the bathrooms, the laundry rooms, anyplace where it was okay to be in emotional crisis. I didn’t want to talk about it, I had to force myself to be happy when it felt really hard. I got scared all the time that I would get really bad. In high school, I was so depressed it was debilitating. I could barely pass a class. I was a lost cause.
and I remember that as one of my low points. I had so many lows.
and when I was at school, I went to class and pull all-nighters on bullshit projects but I couldn’t write anything. I didn’t do anything that I really liked just because I liked it. I stopped reading, I stopped writing, I could only manage to watch movies or shows.
I joked today about how watching things feels like fake research, and in a way it is, but also, I miss regular writing.
i’m just a really sad girl who tells stories, you know? that’s my autobio.(10 hours ago)